


Win Or Lose

by Val_Creative



Series: Warlock & His Dollophead [28]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Historical Reenactment, M/M, Modern Era, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reincarnation, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-26 23:31:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1706573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lying awake at night, with Merlin’s arm slung comfortably over his abdomen and hugging, Arthur can hear them.</p><p>He can still hear Camlann’s horn when all goes quiet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Win Or Lose

**Author's Note:**

> (A very special thank you to my friends on Skype who encouraged this on, even when I was whining, and The Merlin Family as well as The Warlock and His King Network on Tumblr for being a wonderfully excitable bunch ❤ ❤ ❤ )
> 
>  
> 
> Day #28: "roleplaying"

*

 

Swords clang in a hellish tempo, as men in cheap plated armour rage against each other.

Arthur supposes this is what an out-of-body experience feels like.

He can't feel anything. Not a _thing_.

Awed numbness floods in him, stealing every body part from him except his heart. His heart pounds in Arthur's head, glaring, echoing like hoofs kicking up dirt.

It's grass— _crumbling stone_ —beneath their feet, surrounded by open field— _gorges of cut boulder and shadows_ —and the faces of anticipation. The enemies— _Saxons, they're coming_ —begin dropping, twitching with a pathetic exaggeration of the death-call, tossing aside their blunted weapons— _soaked in blood, blood, his blood hisblood_ — and eagle-spread.

Lying awake at night, with Merlin's arm slung comfortably over his abdomen and hugging, Arthur can hear them.

He can still hear Camlann's horn when all goes quiet.

The courageous screams of his knights, of every man dying, their rattled gasps and weeping, murmured prayers.

"Arthur?"

Merlin— _Mordred smiles wickedly, Excalibur's blade thrust in deep through the silvery cast of mail_ —Merlin, it's really him, stares right into his unfocused eyes, palming Arthur's too-warm face gently.

"Arthur," he whispers, nearly pleading. "Look at me. Its only pretend. It's over—it's all over. You've won it, Arthur. You've won."

As his namesake lets out a terrible moan and grabs at his red-splattered chest, Arthur imitates the ginger-bearded King Arthur, scrabbling for the healed wound and cupping it.

Merlin's fingers grasp onto his temples, leveling Arthur's wide-eyed, bleary stare to him. His teeth gritting.

"Arthur, _damn it_!—"

"You've lied to me all this time," he murmurs, impassively. The reminder of those words brings hot and slickened bile up Arthur's throat. "I thought I knew you."

Merlin shook his head, a touch wildly, mouth rounding.

"No. No, don't do this, please," he breathes out. Merlin settles his hands back from Arthur's gold-tanned cheeks, as if fearful of touch.

"… I just got you back. I can't lose you, not like this. Arthur."

The genuinely spooked look turns faint, as Arthur closes his eyes, reaching to knuckle Merlin's jacket-sleeves.

He's.

He's Arthur. He's King Arthur. A nobody from the town of Surrey… and a legend. He's the competing halves of both lives.

"Merlin?" Blue eyes reopen, peering to Merlin's softening expression. "What is…?"

"S'alright, everything's alright now," Merlin hushes him, pressing his lips fiercely to Arthur's brow. "We're gonna get some fresh air, c'mon."

It's mid-day sunlight breaking over them and walking back towards the parking lot.

They're already _outside_ , Arthur notes in silence. But he allows Merlin to usher him from the roaring audience.

 

*

 

Merlin knows he only has himself to blame for this.

Arthur hadn't been ready. He wasn't going to be ready.

He's Arthur, but he's also _Arthur_ —a once dead sovereign for his people, clumsy and unable to fully process the gaps stretching time. And, Merlin waited, reborn into countless lifetimes.

Until he got it right.

Until they were able to join together: Arthur's skin whole and real and flexing tendons, shuddering under Merlin's careful, lingering kisses.

He loves Arthur like this. He loves the strong odor of arousal on him, pushing slowly into Arthur's heat, bestowing lazy, admiring smiles.

He _loves_ Arthur, and it will be a bitter cold day in all seven hells when _anything_ —destiny or elsewise—manages to greedily snatch him from Merlin's hands.

 

*


End file.
